


One and One and One and One - With Hope

by pressdbtwnpages



Category: Panic At The Disco
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-30
Updated: 2008-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:31:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/167952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pressdbtwnpages/pseuds/pressdbtwnpages
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just a short little second person, I don't know. Thing. Ryan Ross circa a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One and One and One and One - With Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I, um, don't actually remember writing this. It may have been for a [](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/profile)[**we_are_cities**](http://community.livejournal.com/we_are_cities/) prompt, but, god knows really.

There are things that feel soft and smell sweet and mean safe. Things that make your eyes well at the profundity of the universe. (And then make you marvel that you can spell profundity correctly on the first try and that there even is a word like that that means what you want it to.)

Sometimes you leave obscure messages on antique machines and like the analogy of being imprinted on tape, words repeated against the clicking of wheels. These are things you do not write for the world to hear, the things you don’t want repeated back mindlessly from the mouths of eleven year olds.

In your memories, it is the still snapshots that linger, and not the action shots all color and blur. In memory it is a swipe of green grass against gray grey sky that says “the day we all sat around and told stories and became friends, not three and one or two and one and one, but four, or, one and one and one and one - with hope.” You caption the photo that way and are momentarily tempted to take up some kind of visual art just so that you can label your works in obscure ways that don’t make sense to anyone else. Then you think of your song lyrics and laugh out loud in the empty room.

Sometimes when you are so busy being Ryan Ross you have to take a private moment in a dressing room, or green room, or in a toilet stall at TRL to press your fingers to your throat and make sure your heart is still beating. It grounds you in a way nothing else can, the necessary function of your body. It evens the playing field because it is something you all have in common, everyone who loves you, everyone who hate hate _hates_ you, their pulses all beat throbbing tempos through their veins too.


End file.
